Apr 27, 2021 0:34:01 GMT -5
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The number of times Cecily had fallen on her butt today was somewhere between twenty and fifty. She was pretty sure it was all bruised by now, which wasn't the most pleasant thought to have. Her legs were tired and her arms were sore from lifting the heavy sword. She was certain the blade wasn't fit for her small hand, or her height, at all. It didn't seem to feel right. But maybe that was just her in general. She didn't seem to fit in with the demigods, let alone the Roman ones. Camp life at Camp Half-Blood was already aberrant to her and she had such a hard time fitting in with anyone. Not having been claimed by her parent made it even worse.
The brunette had just lifted her sword to deflect the opponent's blade and without putting much effort in it pummeled out of her hand and to the floor. She would have liked to go again but the combat instructor, an older Roman demigod, has had enough and called it a day. The class ended and she went to retrieve her weapon, rubbing off the sand with her hand.
The area emptied out as she stood by and waited, playing with the sword in her hands and trying to make it fit into her hand. It looked so easy on others, so effortlessly. They swung the blade as if it was as light as a feather but to Cecily, it was as heavy as a hundred rocks. It felt wrong, but she didn't know any better so she continued using it.
The others were gone, and for now, it seemed to be an abandoned arena. Great, she thought, pulling one of the mannequins to the middle. "Okay, I can do this," she mumbled, letting out a breath that softly whipped up a dark strand of hair that got loose and escaped her braid. She lifted the sword, holding it in front of her, then took a quick step forward, swinging the blade at the mannequin.
CLANG.
The sword went flying out of her grasp once again, her legs gave up and she sent herself to the ground. Groaning softly, the daughter of whoever her godly parent was, rolled onto her back. She couldn't help herself but kick at the air above her out of utter frustration. This wasn't it. Maybe she wasn't supposed to be a demigod. Maybe this was just a mistake. One frustrated sigh later the brunette pushed herself back up onto her feet, got her sword, and stared at it as if that would help. She gave up after a minute, feeling rather stupid, and turned around to return it to the armory when she ran into someone. Sword dropping to the ground, yet again. She was glad she didn't have to pay for damages.
"Sorry," she muttered quickly, pressing her hands against her face before tucking away the loose strands behind her ears, "Long day." Long three years.
The number of times Cecily had fallen on her butt today was somewhere between twenty and fifty. She was pretty sure it was all bruised by now, which wasn't the most pleasant thought to have. Her legs were tired and her arms were sore from lifting the heavy sword. She was certain the blade wasn't fit for her small hand, or her height, at all. It didn't seem to feel right. But maybe that was just her in general. She didn't seem to fit in with the demigods, let alone the Roman ones. Camp life at Camp Half-Blood was already aberrant to her and she had such a hard time fitting in with anyone. Not having been claimed by her parent made it even worse.
The brunette had just lifted her sword to deflect the opponent's blade and without putting much effort in it pummeled out of her hand and to the floor. She would have liked to go again but the combat instructor, an older Roman demigod, has had enough and called it a day. The class ended and she went to retrieve her weapon, rubbing off the sand with her hand.
The area emptied out as she stood by and waited, playing with the sword in her hands and trying to make it fit into her hand. It looked so easy on others, so effortlessly. They swung the blade as if it was as light as a feather but to Cecily, it was as heavy as a hundred rocks. It felt wrong, but she didn't know any better so she continued using it.
The others were gone, and for now, it seemed to be an abandoned arena. Great, she thought, pulling one of the mannequins to the middle. "Okay, I can do this," she mumbled, letting out a breath that softly whipped up a dark strand of hair that got loose and escaped her braid. She lifted the sword, holding it in front of her, then took a quick step forward, swinging the blade at the mannequin.
CLANG.
The sword went flying out of her grasp once again, her legs gave up and she sent herself to the ground. Groaning softly, the daughter of whoever her godly parent was, rolled onto her back. She couldn't help herself but kick at the air above her out of utter frustration. This wasn't it. Maybe she wasn't supposed to be a demigod. Maybe this was just a mistake. One frustrated sigh later the brunette pushed herself back up onto her feet, got her sword, and stared at it as if that would help. She gave up after a minute, feeling rather stupid, and turned around to return it to the armory when she ran into someone. Sword dropping to the ground, yet again. She was glad she didn't have to pay for damages.
"Sorry," she muttered quickly, pressing her hands against her face before tucking away the loose strands behind her ears, "Long day." Long three years.
[attr="class","THREAD1TAG"]Branson Lovett
